“So I must go, at the order of the Duke of Berwick? Well, before I pack my portmanteau to report to his Majesty of England, I desire to see her Highness the Princess of Orlamunde, in your Highness’s presence; for I plainly perceive that it is that illustrious lady who is at the bottom of this. It is she who has kept the French King advised of affairs at Orlamunde; and it is she who told me, some months ago, that should I succeed in securing the guns, she would see that I suffered for it.”
Bernstein, who was still hovering about the door, disappeared. There was deep silence in the little room. Every heart listened to its own beating. Roger thought that his would break through his ribs, so hard did it pound them. Through the open door came the echo of dancing and revelling. And after a pause which seemed interminable, the sweep of satin garments was heard on the marble floor, and in another moment Michelle walked into the room. Her face was full of color, and her eyes sparkled like the diadem she wore. Roger was reminded of her unearthly beauty on that day when she entered Orlamunde, and on that next, most ill-fated morning, when she had married the creature before them. She wore a rich white mantle, and casting it off her bare shoulders, she said, in her usual sweet and composed voice,—
“I am here at the request of your Highness.”
As she entered, Berwick and Roger Egremont rose and bowed profoundly. Hugo Stein was already standing, and he did not bow at all; he only looked at Michelle with an unrelenting smile. The Prince did not budge at all, nor the Countess Bertha, until she was moved by Roger Egremont, who, taking her elbow firmly in one hand, gently brought her to her feet, while with the other hand he tipped her head forward until she executed a very humble bow.
Michelle flashed a smile at him,—a smile so bright, so full of light and grace and feeling, that it almost turned him dizzy.
There was a deep, deep, pause. The Prince had not answered Michelle’s question, and the first voice that spoke was Hugo Stein’s,—cool, measured, and ineffably wicked.
“Madam,” he said, “his Highness has seen fit to order me from Orlamunde for alleged political reasons. I foresee that the truth will soon be out. He has, no doubt, information concerning our attachment. I shall be compelled to leave you to face the storm alone. But I wish to bear testimony that I am solely to blame. It was I who sought you out; who, charmed by your wit, and enchanted by your beauty, gave rein to the passion you inspired within me. Had the Prince been a more attentive husband, he would not now be lamenting his own shame. I offer, in his presence and that of the persons who are now here, to take you away with me, and to make you my wife as soon as a divorce can be obtained.”
Had the sky above them parted, and the earth beneath them opened, and the whole world fallen into chaos and old night, there could not have been more overpowering amazement. It was some minutes before any one recovered sufficiently to speak, or even to think. Hugo Stein alone stood in perfect possession of his faculties, looking coolly about him with an affected humility which could not conceal a sly smile. What delicious revenge was his! How simple, how comprehensive! How many did he pay back! That wretched Prince, who, bought by him, could be frightened by Berwick; that haughty Princess, who had scorned and humiliated him; and that half-brother, who had so grossly insulted him, and against whom he had that fierce and vivid hatred which a man always feels towards one whom he has injured. Hugo Stein had, indeed,—what the bad in this life, as well as the good, seldom have,—one moment of perfect and entrancing joy, when everything goes exactly as one wishes.
Roger Egremont was the first to recover his senses. Without a word, but with a cry like a tiger, he sprang at Hugo’s throat. Berwick, catching him in a powerful grasp, forced him back into a chair, and held him there.
The Prince lay back in his chair, livid and panting. He was a very foolish prince, was this Karl whom Michelle had married, weak of will, as he was of understanding, and open to suspicion. He had enough that was human in him to wish to kill the man who asserted that he had dishonored the Princess, and Hugo, looking back and forth, saw two pairs of eyes fixed on him with murder in them.